


Wake Up

by CheekyPseud



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: "8th" Year, Depression, EWE, F/M, M/M, Post-War, Severus Snape Being a Bastard, Teacher-Student Relationship, slowish burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-28 01:15:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8424958
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CheekyPseud/pseuds/CheekyPseud
Summary: The newfound understanding between Severus Snape and Harry Potter is strange and difficult to navigate. Can a relationship originally formed on spite and disdain be anything but toxic?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This first chapter is more of a prologue and treads some very familiar ground in terms of the book/film. Probably in fic, as well. But please bear with me.
> 
> The title of this fic is named after a song from Arcade Fire, and I thought the lyrics fit theme of this story fairly well. Titles aren't my strong suit.

Lying prone and nearly paralyzed on the cold, dust-carpeted floorboards of the Shrieking Shack, Severus Snape felt a horrifying mixture of terror and despair. His hands scrabbled uselessly at his own neck in a desperate attempt to stem the flow of blood gushing from the puncture wounds there. Immune as he was to the snake’s venom, he could do virtually nothing without the aid of his wand, which had fallen from his numb fingers and rolled into a distant corner of the room when Nagini had struck, rendering him as useless as the common squib.

 

It stung to know that in spite of his many precautions concerning the wretched beast, he was laid out on this dirty floor dying of blood loss. The place he'd been struck by those impressive fangs was swelling rapidly and his blood was seeping alarmingly fast across the floor, black as oil in the darkness, permeating the air with its distinctive coppery scent.

 

He couldn't die; not like this. Not when there was so much left to accomplish.

 

It was ironic, he thought bitterly, that he would die here, where he'd almost met his end decades ago because of Sirius Black's underhanded, deadly trick. Here, where he'd been saved by foolish, weak Potter. It was far too much to hope that such a miracle might occur a second time...

 

As if on cue, a floorboard creaked from the direction of the hidden passageway and someone cloaked in the shadows took short, hesitant steps in his direction. Snape felt a brief surge of hope (could it be a pitying comrade?), and annoyance (that his unseemly death was being interrupted).

 

Then the spectre of James Potter appeared suddenly out of the darkness, looming over Severus with a silvery invisibility cloak clenched in one fist and lit wand in the other. Severus’s body went, if possible, even colder. It was as if his own reminiscing had drawn Potter there to haunt him in his final moments. Before he could give voice to his fear, some small shred of rationality prevailed and he noticed the differences. Narrower nose, fuller lips, and startling emerald eyes flashing behind a messy, black fringe. Not James, but Harry.

 

What little breath was left in Severus's lungs fled his chest until it felt like it was caving in. Those exquisite eyes were fixated on him with an undeniable, fiery hatred, and something else too... Regret, perhaps? That he was too late to kill Severus himself? The relief flooding him was too sharp for Severus to muster similar feelings of loathing.

 

Now was his moment. His final act of redemption and damnation.

 

As Potter bent over him, Severus reached for the boy with a trembling hand and snagged his robes, tugging him down until Potter was practically kneeling beside him. Drawing desperately upon what little magic he could still muster, Snape managed with great difficulty to summon the essential memories—more than were perhaps necessary. They leaked crudely out of eyes, ears and mouth, but Severus had no time to spare for self-consciousness

 

“Take it,” he urged, the blood and swelling in throat causing it to come out as a gurgle. “Take it.”

 

Thankfully, Potter seemed to comprehend what was happening, for within a moment he was holding a flask and siphoning Severus’s memories into it.

 

After Potter had carefully collected them all, Severus finally allowed himself to relax. Whatever came next for the boy was far beyond his concern or abilities to assist. The knowledge was comforting.

 

The edges of his vision began blurring heavily and the throbbing in his neck didn’t hurt so badly anymore. But Severus still needed one last thing. Just the one.

 

“Look at me,” he pleaded faintly. “Look at me.”

 

And Potter did, those perfect eyes flicking up to meet Severus’s gaze one last time.

 

As his vision faded to black, he could almost fool himself that Lily was by his side, silently passing judgement.

 

*******

 

Harry knees ached as he stayed crouched on the floor by Snape's side, the memories clutched tightly in one hand and his wand in the other, light wavering because of how badly his hands were shaking. He tucked the memories into his trouser pocket and, after a moment's hesitation, pressed his fingers to the unblemished side of Snape's neck. His skin was still warm and there was the faint beat of a pulse.

 

Indecision wavered so strongly within him that he felt dizzy for a moment. Snape was just as much a monster as Bellatrix Lestrange and Fenrir Greyback, and he deserved to die like this; betrayed and murdered by his master, left for dead. It was fitting after what he’d done to Dumbledore and the Order. After what he’d done to Harry...

 

But, no. A quick death was far too easy for the likes of him.. He deserved much worse. He deserved to be put on trial and shamed before the entire wizarding world. He deserved Azkaban. Snape would face the full force of the law if Harry had anything to say about it.

 

“Hermione,” he said unsteadily, “help him, please. If you can. I need him alive.”

 

She dropped to her knees instantly, hand squeezing his shoulder, while Ron crouched on his other side, frowning heavily, and seemingly beyond words.

 

“Are you quite certain, Harry?” she asked tentatively.

 

The only thing Harry was certain of was that he wanted to vomit.

 

“Just do it,” he said through gritted teeth. “Now. He can't get off this easily.”

 

Hermione sighed and cast him a rather doubtful look before turning her full attention to Snape.

 

“I don’t know if this will work on these, but…” she trailed off.

 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Hermione passed the tip of her wand over the puncture wounds on Snape's throat while murmuring an incantation that Harry vaguely recognized, though he couldn’t possibly say from where. He watched apprehensively as the flow of blood slowed, then stopped altogether. On her third recitation Snape's skin knitted itself together, so that only faint marks left behind from the bite.

 

Harry breathed an unintentional sigh of relief. Hermione regarded him with something that too closely resembled pity.

 

“If these wounds are anything like my dad’s they’re gonna reopen pretty soon,” Ron said quietly. “I never did learn how they managed to put him to rights. He’ll also need quite a bit of blood-replenishing potion. He'll probably be dead before we make it back to the castle.”

 

Hermione nodded at Ron’s pessimistic words, and said in a small voice: “It’s all I can do, Harry.”

 

“Thank you,” he told her numbly, but not untruthfully. He stood abruptly, his limbs still quaking slightly. “We’ve wasted too much time here already. We’d better go.”

 

They’d hardly taken a step towards the tunnel when Voldemort’s voice reverberated through the house.


	2. Chapter 2

When Severus had closed his eyes on Harry Potter, that grim house, and hopeless war, he’d managed to find some small measure of peace within himself. He’d done everything that he could, and oftentimes more than he’d thought himself capable of. There had been enough victory in that. He hadn’t needed commendations any longer. Death had almost seemed a welcome embrace after spending so many years playing spy in the Dark Lord’s loathsome den.

 

At first, the vague sounds that reached Severus’s ears, and the warm-toned colours that flickered through his eyelids fooled him into thinking that he was, perhaps, arriving at that mysterious in-between place where he would have to decide whether he wanted his disembodied soul to remain on earth. Then he gradually became aware of the breath easing steadily in and out of his lungs, the rhythm of his chest rising and falling. The realisation that he was alive was a little disappointing. 

 

   Better than alive, he felt more healed and whole than he had in years, There was some dryness in his throat, and a subtle, yet markedly bitter taste on the back of his tongue, but the area where Nagini had struck didn’t hurt, nor did it feel remotely swollen.

 

    He was being kept very warm, as well, covered by a thick blanket and lying on a soft pillow. The scent of flowers lingered in the air. More startlingly still, his hand was being held by one much smaller and a little more sweaty. It felt pleasant in spite of that.

 

     The last person to touch him with any sort of tenderness had been his mother. Sometimes, after she and his father had had a particularly vicious row, she would creep up to his room and lie in bed with him, abrasive exterior gone. She would take his hand and whisper words of reassurance and comfort to him; promises of a better tomorrow that had never come. He’d known not trust her even then, and often loathed her for being too weak to leave his father, but he’d still yearned for those rare moments of affection long after he’d stopped accepting them.

 

    He hadn’t thought of her in years, and never cried for her even after she’d died, now he found himself brimming with regret. There was a lump forming in his throat. It was completely absurd. Whatever awaited him in the world of the living couldn’t possibly hurt so much, even if it was the Dark Lord playing some cruel trick upon him.

 

    With tremendous effort, Severus managed to open his eyes, blinking a few times to help bring his surroundings into sharper focus, letting the memories drift away as if they were nothing more than a bad dream.

 

    He was lying on a comfortable bed in the middle of a small, dimly lit room. The walls were wood-panelled, and meticulously polished, dotted here and there with sconces which emitted a buttery, yellow glow. No pictures hung from the walls, and there were forest green curtains drawn over a solitary window. There was one door directly across the room from the bed Severus’s was lying in.

 

    There was a nightstand on his left, upon which stood a vase containing a colorful bouquet of blossoms, and next to it, an occupied chair pushed very close to his bedside.  

 

    Severus tilted his head more fully in that direction, wary of who he might find.

 

   To his immense shock, Harry Potter was slumped there fast asleep, dressed in rumpled muggle attire, glasses askew, a little drool at the corner of his open mouth. One of his hands was outstretched and gripping Severus’s.

 

   Confusion seemed to jam his brain even further. Unless there was a very clever bit of transfiguration or dose of Polyjuice Potion at work, Potter appeared to be alive! Severus couldn't help feeling relieved that he wouldn't have to blame himself for the end of Lily’s lineage.

 

   But his relief sobered quickly. If Potter was alive, didn’t that mean the Dark Lord was also?

 

   Had Potter been too cowardly to face his own death? It would be _so_ like him for stronger wizards to sacrifice their lives in order for him to accomplish absolutely nothing.

 

   More pressingly even than that, or so it seemed to Severus: _why_ on earth was he holding Severus’s hand as though they were on friendly terms?

 

   Severus stared at the anomaly of their joined hands for a long while, mouth slightly agape.

 

   Eventually, unable to stand the oppressive heat of Potter’s hand any longer, and desperately in need of answers, he slid his hand out from beneath Potter’s loose grasp and clutched it protectively to his chest as if it had been badly burnt. He turned his attention to the nightstand in the hope of finding his wand there. He was gathering the strength to reach over and open the drawer despite the immense heaviness in his limbs, when the door to the room swung open.

 

   Severus froze, staring as a willowy, young witch holding a clipboard edged inside the room, humming quietly to herself, closing the door with her hip. His eyes zeroed in on the crossed bone and wand stitched upon her lime-green robes. A Healer? But this room didn’t resemble any he’d seen in St. Mungo’s.

 

   She noticed he was awake and jumped a little, loosing a small shriek that had Potter jolting awake instantly, releasing an absurd snort, eyes snapping wide open in panic and reaching for the wand that was no doubt hidden inside his jacket.

 

   “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Potter. I didn’t mean to startle ya,” she exclaimed. “But look, Mr. Snape up at last!”

 

   Potter turned, sleepy green eyes blinking owlishly at Severus for several seconds, before sitting up ramrod straight and fixing his glasses.

 

   “Where am I?” Severus rasped, half-convinced this was some bizarre dream. “What has happened?”

 

   “You’re in St. Mungo’s,” Potter said, pulling out his wand and conjuring a pitcher of water on the nightstand along with a solitary glass. He’d said the spell aloud, Severus couldn’t help from noticing. Needing to vocalize such a simple spell was a good indication that the person beside him wasn’t an imposter. 

   Potter poured Severus a glass of water while the Healer moved to stand on the other side of his bed.

    "'M'sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep," Potter mumbled to her.

   "That's all right," she said, "I think you needed it. Wish _I_  could take a nap. I've been on floor two helping them with a massive outbreak of dragon pox. I just don't understand why people refuse to get vaccinated."

    "It's mad, isn't it?"

   Severus, deeply annoyed by their camaraderie, pushed himself up into a sitting position before either of them could offer their assistance. He was already exceptionally weak, and he saw upon glancing down, dressed in a checkered blue nightgown with sleeves barely long enough to conceal his Dark Mark. He didn't care to face any more indignities.

 

   He accepted the proffered glass and drank greedily, trying to hide how frail he felt, uncomfortably aware of both their eyes upon him.

 

   “This doesn’t look like any room I’ve seen in Saint Mungo’s,” he said suspiciously, passing the glass back to Potter. “And you haven't answered my second question.”

 

  “Healer Mortimer is kindly letting you use his office,” the Healer chimed in, stepping closer to his bedside and drawing her wand. She waved it over him before he could protest, and he felt a spell swoop unpleasantly through every molecule of his body.

 

   She simply smiled when he glowered at her. “Sorry ‘bout that, Just checking your vitals. Now, is there anything I can get ya before I go?”

   

   “No,” Severus said, even as his stomach twisted with hunger, eyeing her skeptically. She looked worryingly young to be a fully qualified Healer. Severus didn’t recall ever seeing her at Hogwarts. He’d have to ask after her credentials later. “Unless you can tell me why I’m here. And _why_ I’ve been given my own room.”

 

   “Mr. Potter will fill you in on all of that, I'm sure,” she said, backing towards the door, chipper veneer slipping a little. “I’ll leave you to it.”

 

   Then she was gone, leaving him and Potter alone.

 

  Severus was suddenly acutely aware of the fact that Potter now knew a great many of his secrets. He hadn’t wanted to die during the war, but he also hadn't wanted to stick around and face the boy after he knew the truth.

 

   Bracing himself for whatever strangeness was to come, Severus turned his full attention to Potter.

 

    Before he could open his mouth and begin demanding answers, Potter’s face broke into a huge, beaming grin. It was somehow more startling than waking up to Potter holding his hand. It left him utterly speechless.

 

  “I know this must be weird for you,” Potter said, “but you should know that I’m really glad to see you awake.” He _did_ seem genuinely happy about it. It was remarkably unsettling.

 

   Severus, having no clue how to respond to that sentiment, said absolutely nothing. Potter didn’t seem to mind. He just sat there, grinning stupidly.

    

    Despite the boy’s seeming joy at Severus's survival, he noticed upon closer inspection that that Potter’s hair was more of a mess than usual, and he looked quite pale and thin, clothing disheveled. Dark circles ringed his eyes so heavily they appeared almost bruised. It was eerie how much he resembled Lupin on the days leading up to the full moon.

 

    “Is the Dark Lord gone?” Severus asked, refusing to inquire after Potter’s well-being.

 

   Potter’s smile faded drastically, whether from Severus’s use of the title or simply the mention of He-Who -Must-Not-Be-Named, he couldn’t tell. “Yes, he’s gone.”

 

  “How can you possibly be alive, then?” Severus demanded.

 

  Potter sighed and slouched a little into the chair.  “I dunno. He used Avada Kedavra on me, but it only destroyed the horcrux inside of me. I don’t know how I survived. I probably never will.” Potter shrugged, subdued and unhappy.

 

Severus wanted to press him for the minute details, but judging by Potter’s dispirited demeanour, he wouldn’t get very far. “How long have I been here?” he asked instead. “It was you who prevented my death, I assume?”

 

   “Yeah… Well, Hermione did that actually.”

 

   Severus frowned. He didn’t recall seeing Granger there. It didn’t really matter, he supposed, but it was irksome nonetheless. “Why would she do that? Wouldn’t her magic would have been better spent saving her friends instead of helping her enemies?”

 

   When Potter scowled, Severus felt satisfaction even though it had been a throwaway query without any heat behind it. Annoyance was easier to manage than the tired vulnerability the boy had been displaying.

 

   “It's not like you any real danger to us, is it? And she did it because I asked her to,” Potter stated a little too placidly. 

 

   “I see. You wanted so badly to kill me yourself that you couldn't help from sparing me,” Severus said quietly, staring into Potter’s eyes.

 

   Instead of getting defensive, Potter seemed to deflate even further before him. He looked down at the hands he’d folded in his lap and shook his head. When he looked back up, to Severus’s immense shock, there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 

   “I wanted to have you sent to Azkaban, actually. I figured you'd hate that worse than dying, even with no Dementors to guard the place.”

 

   After a lengthy pause, Severus grudgingly admitted, “You'd have been right.”

 

   “I’m really sorry,” Potter said, looking at Severus unflinchingly. “For all the things I said and thought about you. I was wrong, obviously.”

 

   “I played my part well,” Severus grumbled, having no idea why he was appeasing Potter’s conscience. “There was no way you could have known the truth. You weren’t meant to.”

 

   “That doesn’t make me feel any better about it.”

 

   “It wasn’t supposed to,” Severus snapped, having had enough of the conversation. While serving as headmaster at Hogwarts, he’d sometimes daydreamed of Potter falling at his feet in contrition, begging for Severus’s forgiveness. Receiving the boy’s apology under the current circumstances was nowhere near as sweet as he’d envisioned. “Just tell me, when am I free to leave? And where the hell is my wand?”

 

  ”I dunno. We think you’ll be able to leave soon. As for your wand-”

 

  “Who exactly is _we_?" Severus interrupted, eyes narrowing.

 

   “Me and Kingsley Shacklebolt,” Harry informed him. “We’re handling your, umm... case…”

 

   “My case?” Severus asked tonelessly, blood running cold. Of _course_ he was still being charged. How could he have been so foolish as to think otherwise?

 

    He suddenly recognised the bitterness that still lingered at the back of his throat. The taste, the heaviness in his limbs, the murkiness of his mind; all obvious side-effects of overusing a sleeping draught. It should have been impossible to miss. He felt immensely foolish.

 

    “How long have you been keeping me asleep?”

 

   Potter squirmed a little in his seat, eyes fixed somewhere above Severus’s head. “A little over two weeks.”

 

    “Considering that I’m immune to Nagini’s venom, even the most unqualified MediWizard should have had me completely healed in less than twenty-four hours.”

 

  “The ministry didn't want you stirring up trouble,” Potter explained apologetically. “Hardly anyone knows you're alive, and they’ve been trying to finish up the other trials as quickly as possible.”

 

   “Is mine coming up soon?” he asked tonelessly, pretending the matter didn’t interest him in the slightest.

 

“Sort of. We’re, er, going _around_ the law to clear your name, so you don’t have to appear before the Wizengamot. It’s been pretty much guaranteed that you’ll be cleared. So, there’s no reason to worry,” Potter rushed to assure him.

 

   “And the ministry is just letting this happen?” Severus asked dubiously, privately thinking there were a good many things to worry about.

 

   “They’re in shambles right now, and very distrusted by the public. They don’t want any more damage done to their reputation. A new minister hasn’t even been elected yet."

 

   “All the more reason for them to give me a swift conviction,” Severus mused. Then things fell into place. “Ah, of course, _you’ve_ stepped up and personally lent your name to my cause.” Severus said angrily. The shame of having Harry Potter save his life, then proceed to _publicly_ rescue him from a life-sentence in Azkaban was too much to bear.

 

   “Yes," Potter said carefully, like someone tiptoeing over broken glass. "I couldn't let them cart you off to prison."

 

   “Oh, how very _generous_ of you, Potter,” Severus sneered. “The champion of the wizarding world putting himself on the line to prove my innocence. It’ll make for a great headline. Well, no need to bother on my account. I daresay you don’t need my help to keep your name in the Prophet.”

 

   Potter shook his head, face turning red, mouth tightening with anger. “Stop. You know it’s not like that. Can’t we move on from... this?” Potter waved his hand vaguely between the two of them.

 

   Severus ignored the request. “Where’s my wand?”

 

   Potter sighed heavily. “It’s in evidence, along with the memories you gave me.”

 

  “What?” he snarled, sitting upright far too quickly and feeling alarmingly  dizzy. “I don’t want them to be used! I demand you return them to me at once!” It was bad enough that Potter had seen them and knew his secrets, let alone countless members of the ministry.

 

  Potter held up his hands in a pacifying manner. “It's too late. Kingsley’s already looked them over. They aren’t going on public record, though. Hardly anyone will even-”

 

    “Don’t be obtuse,” Severus spat. “Aurors gossip more than middle-aged witches! Word will spread!”

 

    “Why does it matter?” Harry exclaimed exasperatedly. “Why shouldn’t people know you’re not a monster! There’s nothing wrong with loving someone!”

 

    “Get out! Now!” He would _not_ discuss Lily with Potter. Not here, not ever.

 

   “I won’t let you fucking rot in Azkaban!” Potter declared hotly.

 

   “I should have gotten a choice in the matter!”

 

    “Clearly not! You’re too pigheaded-”

 

    “Leave!” Snape bellowed, chest heaving.

 

    Potter and him glared daggers at each other for a moment, before Potter finally pushed himself up from the chair and stalked to the door.

 

    “Fine. But don’t even think about trying to leave,” Potter said threateningly, as if rebuking a misbehaving child. It was beyond humiliating. “The room is warded, and there’re Aurors guarding the door as you’re still technically in custody. If you try to escape, you’ll be put back to sleep.”

 

    “I wouldn’t dream of it,” Severus lied, glaring determinedly at the wall above Potter’s head; hands clenched, temples pounding.

 

   He heard the telltale creak of the door opening, then Potter’s voice saying with extremely forced calm: “I’ll be back in a couple days.”

 

He was gone before Severus could protest.

 

    Severus slumped back onto the pillows, burying his shaking hands in the blankets and twisting hard, trying to regain control of his temper, and racing mind. His most closely guarded secrets were likely to become the gossip fodder _du jour_ for the wizarding world. He wished Potter and his idiotic friend had just let him die.

 

   He spied the vase of flowers out of the corner of his eye and realised Potter must have brought them. Who else would have? He swept the vase off the nightstand with a vicious swipe of his arm, sending it clattering to the floor, still disappointingly intact.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now that the US election is over, I'll be updating weekly. The next chapter will be Harry's POV, and contain ***dramatic music*** het sex. It will probably be the only chapter to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't really consider this a cliffhanger. Everyone knows what happens, right? RIGHT?
> 
> This is my first Snarry _and_ first fic for the HP fandom, btw. So, I hope no one judges me too harshly.


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